Meeting Miniyal
Who: Miniyal, Diya
Date: Autumn, Turn 198 (backdated)
Where: Diya's weyr
What: Miniyal gets recruited as Diya's new assistant.
While mornings are generally designated for staff meetings, as well as time spent in her own office, afternoons find Diya seated in the comfort of her weyr, behind a desk that's slanted to catch the waning light of autumn in Reaches' early sunsets. Deliberately, the table is clear of all hides but one, and is also decorated with a center piece of fall foliage, clearly a child's creation, as well as a tray of warm cookies and two glasses of milk. As far as meetings go, the arrangement is cozy rather than intimidating, and the goldrider passes her time by glancing over that one hide before her, reclined backwards in one of the well-cushioned wooden chairs.
Promptness is something most parents and nannies try in vain to instil in their charges. And then there are the people it sets in too well. Those people you don't expect to see and you turn around and there they are. Promptly where they should be which so few people expect and therefore are usually surprised by. Miniyal is, of course, the latter sort of person. The sooner you get somewhere the sooner you can get away is most likely her reasoning. So, since her mother arranged this and she's not the sort to disappoint her parents Miniyal scrubbed ink from her fingers, combed her hair, and left the safety of the records room to arrive outside the junior weyrwoman's room. A scuffle of feet and then a polite voice calls out, "Pardon me? It's Miniyal."
There's no imposing figure of gold, though it's been rumored Nenuith's taken with one of the bronzes and has taken to sharing a ledge while her rider works and thus spares any such inconvenience in the way of light being blocked, or a golden nose taking interest in the approaching figure Miniyal must strike. Given that there's no dragon to forewarn her of the girl's arrival, Diya still manages to maintain the semblance of calm, lacking the surprise that the chubby girl might instill in others with her promptness. "Have a cookie," are her first words, a simple gesture indicating the plate, "And the milk as well. Girls need milk to grow, so say the healers. Miniyal, is it?" A warm smile finds Diya's mouth, clefts hinting at the corners. "Diya. Did your mother accompany you?"
Cookies, indeed. Is it sad that a girl Miniyal's age, far beyond when cookies should really get her attention, responds to the invitation so swiftly. Not impolite swiftness, but she moves forward and seats herself, gingerly taking a cookie and having a small nibble. "Yes, Miniyal," she says with an affirmative nod before taking a glass as well since it was offered. She doesn't take a drink from it yet, instead she looks at the other woman. Seeing from afar is not the same as seeing up close and she studies the weyrwoman carefully, although it falls just shy of rudeness. "My mother is busy, weyrwoman," she answers softly. "And I believe she feels were she to accompany me I would hardly make the proper impression, no?"
"So it was her decision to not join you, or your request?" Diya asks, all solemn in this query, as if the very interview hinges on the answer. Still, for all her seriousness, the weyrwoman continues to smile, her efforts transparent in trying to ease the girl into the conversation. "I like the sweetener dusted ones myself," she shares, reaching out to take up her own cookie. "My mother used to bake cookies for us, I've siblings. And somehow a day never seems complete without some sort of sweet to round out the day's work."
Examining her own cookie, Miniyal seems to be considering its value as related to the dusted ones. "This one is fine," she say, taking another bite to prove her point. This is followed up by the tiniest sip of milk to accompany the cookie. "She made no mention of coming along," is the quiet answer. "And I did not request her to. I am still unsure, werywoman, why my name even appeared on the list of candidates for the position. I know I am competent in my duties, but I thought. . .well, that someone more, you know, would be desired." Ahh, yes. Good of her to clear that up like she did.
Thoughtful, and perhaps deliberate in expressing her emotions so transparently, Diya watches Miniyal's movements and listens to her words. "You don't believe in your own competence for what I would ask of an assistant? Or does it confuse you that I like to have an assistant other than the women under the Headwoman's jurisdiction?" Her two questions are carefully spoken of, punctuated by an absentminded bite of her cookie - a healthy bite, no girlish nibbles for her. The middle-aged woman also refrains from unwinding herself from her chair, instead favoring the semblance of a more equal height by her slight slouch.
"It is just, you see? Well, I never thought to seek a position outside the records room," Miniyal admits bluntly. "I was just confused by the honor of being up for the position." A pause and then more bluntness, devoid of vanity or any sense of bragging. "I am competent for any job that involves recording, writing, figures, notations, organizing, keeping track of, and other records related work." Another nibble of her cookie, the sort of nibble that screams of self-control and the desire to not stuff said cookie in her mouth to keep her from having to speak. "I am not surprised that you would wish for an assistant of your own," she says after a moment's thought. "One would desire someone who would owe no time to anyone else. To be available when needed."
"I'm told," Diya begins her words with as much self-control as Miniyal uses the cookie to display such decorum, "That you are capable in the records room, punctual when a specific duty and time is requested of you, punctual in completion of your tasks and seem to take pleasure in the written word. As opposed to," the woman's smile shifts into an indulgent grin, "Spoken. Your supervisors have nothing but praise for your capacity as a recordskeeper." There's a pause, significance in the silence as the woman rifles through various thoughts without any change in her expression. "Your mother as well. Did you want another cookie? What you don't eat, I'll have to have myself, or distribute to the nurseries. The nannies hate when I do that."
Consuming the rest of her cookie as the weyrwoman speaks, Miniyal looks at the plate when another is offered. She did not get her current figure by saying no to a treat and therefore does help herself to another with a quietly murmured, "Thank you." This time she takes a more regular bite, smiling ever so briefly to herself as she enjoys the sweet. "My mother, I think, wishes I were doing something else. But only out of concern I suppose." A small shrug, she can't read her mother's mind after all and the thought would terrify her if she could. "I like to think I am capable enough at my work. I do my best." She pauses here, a tinge of embarrassment creeping over her features at the comment over her chosen method of communication. "I just find it easier to keep track of things written down. There is no error in a column of numbers or a list. And if there is you can easily spot it. When people speak," she stops here. Losing herself in her cookie before blurting out in her quiet voice, "People confuse me. They don't say what they mean and they lie and they say things just to be cruel. I so seldom can follow a conversation."
Diya allows a space of time to pass, time enough for her to digest what Miniyal states, process it, and come to her own conclusions -- conclusions that have most likely already been drawn far before this meeting was even scheduled. "I don't enjoy crowds myself. Or speaking much, but you do what you must." The admission, once made, can't be taken back, and the goldrider steadies her gaze onto the pudgy girl. With casual swiftness, she moves onto a new topic, dropping her blue gaze to the hide before her, eyes squinting to take in the scribble there. "You'll be twenty soon, or is it nineteen?"
The admission causes Miniyal to start in surprise. She looks up and over more carefully between bites of her cookie. A timid smile is offered but it is fleeting and the sort only the observant would even notice. "I'll be nineteen in, well, just a few days, actually." (We'll just say the game will start right about her birthday. Happy birthday to her!) The question draws a thoughtful frown over her features. For whatever reason the question seems to startle or concern or perhaps just puzzle her. "Is that too old?" she asks with a touch of concern. After all, her mother dearly wants her to get this position and she doesn't want to disappoint.
Lucky for Diya, she's the incredibly observant type. Gossip even insinuates that her imitations of people's speech and mannerisms is legendary. Spotting the smile, her own emerges past the solemnity, a trifle shy, accepting even of any such flaws that may lie in dealing with people. Then, without missing a beat, Diya starts in on expectations, ignoring for now the question of age. "What I expect of in an assistant isn't someone who will wake me in the morning. I'm capable of that myself. Nor do I require you to take notes of what I do. I am also capable of that. You will be following me daily within a set period of time, after which a variety of assignments will be passed onto you, either research for a case I wish to present to the Weyrwoman of why we need more slotted spoons," and in this the aging woman is particularly sarcastic, "Or how the Caucus negatively effects Weyr morale." She pauses. "For instance, I mean. I expect you to be prompt arriving on Nenuith's ledge in the morning, and require a certain degree of independent thought and movement of you. Or would, if I selected you," she corrects finally. "Do you understand, Miniyal?"
Miniyal consumes her second cookie and doesn't seem to be thinking as she reaches for a third. Still, once she's begun the action she can't take it back and so she has a third cookie after all. A small bite and she takes a drink to wash it down. "I would expect you to be capable of handling such things, yes," said in the tone more suited to a much older woman. A touch of sarcasm even and perhaps a trace of something else more secretive, given away almost by the drop of her gaze. "I think there is nothing I cannot do if it is required of me," she says firmly. Believing this at least and it runs through her words sharply. "I, well, you should understand, if you assign me a task, were I to be given this position, I will complete it. If it means, well, the results might not be favorable or what you wish, but I will not alter what I do for anyone." Although she doesn't appear to be accusing. Simply stating this as a fact. Odds are good in the past someone has attempted to get her to alter records. She's just not the sort.
Intent on watching Miniyal take the cookie, Diya only takes belated notice of the drop of the girl's eyes, seeming to be genuinely baffled for an instant. "There's little you can't do when you believe you can." The hokeyness of her words is heartfelt, the twinge of sly amusement in her eyes indicative she realizes this. "My prior assistant is now one of the Headwoman's hoard, and I was quite reluctant to let her go, but she's trained enough to one day, possibly, become a good Headwoman herself to a- Weyrwoman." The hesitant spacing of the words is minute, extreme perceptiveness finding that and the shadow that drops fleetingly over the weyrwoman's eyes. "As with any such position, discretion is required. Past assistants have been remarkable at keeping gossip-worthy notes to themselves. Thoughts?"
The words spoken get no reply, likely such thoughts have been thrown at Miniyal throughout her life. Thy shy ones are always told they just need to believe in themselves and so on. In Miniyal's case she tended to nod politely and then slip off where she wouldn't have to listen to the words that did little to help her. "It is, one imagines," she says after a drink from her glass, "Something of a stepping stone, this position. I, well, I desire no advancement. To be honest, weyrwoman I would be quite happy to remain in the records room forever, but sometimes I think it will not be wise. I, well, you know, there are things that could be better. Ways to fix things. I don't know." A somewhat fanatical glint to her eyes as she speaks of this, but realising it she shuts herself down. "I do not believe gossip helps. I find, well, I assume you know enough about me to know I'm certainly the last person who would ever speak out of turn."
Well-aware that assisting a weyrwoman is a stepping stone, Diya has nothing to say, noting with a faint nod of her head the truth in such a statement. "If it would please you, I do not mind acquiring an assistant for as long as you would enjoy the position. It may require travel at times to areas overnight, and a moment's notice given prior to these trips. I trust you." The last seems to conclude the interview, as the warmer, more personable woman emerges once more. "Your mother's words, and the simple fact that what you say is true, you are the last person who would say something unnecessarily, and in that, I see myself. I expect you here on the morrow. Unless," she pauses, "You have anything else to say, requests, desires, lack thereof?"
"I don't suppose," Miniyal asks as she rises to leave, "There might be space for my own room?" Something not expected, but one never knows unless they ask, yes? She does take another cookie before leaving. Actually, she doesn't even wait for an answer, mumbling, "We can discuss it tomorrow. I'm sorry. I should go." Gasp. Asking for something for herself. For shame. She'll let it go. Instead she inclines her head courteously and then, there being no other word for it, flees from the room.
Date: Autumn, Turn 198 (backdated)
Where: Diya's weyr
What: Miniyal gets recruited as Diya's new assistant.
While mornings are generally designated for staff meetings, as well as time spent in her own office, afternoons find Diya seated in the comfort of her weyr, behind a desk that's slanted to catch the waning light of autumn in Reaches' early sunsets. Deliberately, the table is clear of all hides but one, and is also decorated with a center piece of fall foliage, clearly a child's creation, as well as a tray of warm cookies and two glasses of milk. As far as meetings go, the arrangement is cozy rather than intimidating, and the goldrider passes her time by glancing over that one hide before her, reclined backwards in one of the well-cushioned wooden chairs.
Promptness is something most parents and nannies try in vain to instil in their charges. And then there are the people it sets in too well. Those people you don't expect to see and you turn around and there they are. Promptly where they should be which so few people expect and therefore are usually surprised by. Miniyal is, of course, the latter sort of person. The sooner you get somewhere the sooner you can get away is most likely her reasoning. So, since her mother arranged this and she's not the sort to disappoint her parents Miniyal scrubbed ink from her fingers, combed her hair, and left the safety of the records room to arrive outside the junior weyrwoman's room. A scuffle of feet and then a polite voice calls out, "Pardon me? It's Miniyal."
There's no imposing figure of gold, though it's been rumored Nenuith's taken with one of the bronzes and has taken to sharing a ledge while her rider works and thus spares any such inconvenience in the way of light being blocked, or a golden nose taking interest in the approaching figure Miniyal must strike. Given that there's no dragon to forewarn her of the girl's arrival, Diya still manages to maintain the semblance of calm, lacking the surprise that the chubby girl might instill in others with her promptness. "Have a cookie," are her first words, a simple gesture indicating the plate, "And the milk as well. Girls need milk to grow, so say the healers. Miniyal, is it?" A warm smile finds Diya's mouth, clefts hinting at the corners. "Diya. Did your mother accompany you?"
Cookies, indeed. Is it sad that a girl Miniyal's age, far beyond when cookies should really get her attention, responds to the invitation so swiftly. Not impolite swiftness, but she moves forward and seats herself, gingerly taking a cookie and having a small nibble. "Yes, Miniyal," she says with an affirmative nod before taking a glass as well since it was offered. She doesn't take a drink from it yet, instead she looks at the other woman. Seeing from afar is not the same as seeing up close and she studies the weyrwoman carefully, although it falls just shy of rudeness. "My mother is busy, weyrwoman," she answers softly. "And I believe she feels were she to accompany me I would hardly make the proper impression, no?"
"So it was her decision to not join you, or your request?" Diya asks, all solemn in this query, as if the very interview hinges on the answer. Still, for all her seriousness, the weyrwoman continues to smile, her efforts transparent in trying to ease the girl into the conversation. "I like the sweetener dusted ones myself," she shares, reaching out to take up her own cookie. "My mother used to bake cookies for us, I've siblings. And somehow a day never seems complete without some sort of sweet to round out the day's work."
Examining her own cookie, Miniyal seems to be considering its value as related to the dusted ones. "This one is fine," she say, taking another bite to prove her point. This is followed up by the tiniest sip of milk to accompany the cookie. "She made no mention of coming along," is the quiet answer. "And I did not request her to. I am still unsure, werywoman, why my name even appeared on the list of candidates for the position. I know I am competent in my duties, but I thought. . .well, that someone more, you know, would be desired." Ahh, yes. Good of her to clear that up like she did.
Thoughtful, and perhaps deliberate in expressing her emotions so transparently, Diya watches Miniyal's movements and listens to her words. "You don't believe in your own competence for what I would ask of an assistant? Or does it confuse you that I like to have an assistant other than the women under the Headwoman's jurisdiction?" Her two questions are carefully spoken of, punctuated by an absentminded bite of her cookie - a healthy bite, no girlish nibbles for her. The middle-aged woman also refrains from unwinding herself from her chair, instead favoring the semblance of a more equal height by her slight slouch.
"It is just, you see? Well, I never thought to seek a position outside the records room," Miniyal admits bluntly. "I was just confused by the honor of being up for the position." A pause and then more bluntness, devoid of vanity or any sense of bragging. "I am competent for any job that involves recording, writing, figures, notations, organizing, keeping track of, and other records related work." Another nibble of her cookie, the sort of nibble that screams of self-control and the desire to not stuff said cookie in her mouth to keep her from having to speak. "I am not surprised that you would wish for an assistant of your own," she says after a moment's thought. "One would desire someone who would owe no time to anyone else. To be available when needed."
"I'm told," Diya begins her words with as much self-control as Miniyal uses the cookie to display such decorum, "That you are capable in the records room, punctual when a specific duty and time is requested of you, punctual in completion of your tasks and seem to take pleasure in the written word. As opposed to," the woman's smile shifts into an indulgent grin, "Spoken. Your supervisors have nothing but praise for your capacity as a recordskeeper." There's a pause, significance in the silence as the woman rifles through various thoughts without any change in her expression. "Your mother as well. Did you want another cookie? What you don't eat, I'll have to have myself, or distribute to the nurseries. The nannies hate when I do that."
Consuming the rest of her cookie as the weyrwoman speaks, Miniyal looks at the plate when another is offered. She did not get her current figure by saying no to a treat and therefore does help herself to another with a quietly murmured, "Thank you." This time she takes a more regular bite, smiling ever so briefly to herself as she enjoys the sweet. "My mother, I think, wishes I were doing something else. But only out of concern I suppose." A small shrug, she can't read her mother's mind after all and the thought would terrify her if she could. "I like to think I am capable enough at my work. I do my best." She pauses here, a tinge of embarrassment creeping over her features at the comment over her chosen method of communication. "I just find it easier to keep track of things written down. There is no error in a column of numbers or a list. And if there is you can easily spot it. When people speak," she stops here. Losing herself in her cookie before blurting out in her quiet voice, "People confuse me. They don't say what they mean and they lie and they say things just to be cruel. I so seldom can follow a conversation."
Diya allows a space of time to pass, time enough for her to digest what Miniyal states, process it, and come to her own conclusions -- conclusions that have most likely already been drawn far before this meeting was even scheduled. "I don't enjoy crowds myself. Or speaking much, but you do what you must." The admission, once made, can't be taken back, and the goldrider steadies her gaze onto the pudgy girl. With casual swiftness, she moves onto a new topic, dropping her blue gaze to the hide before her, eyes squinting to take in the scribble there. "You'll be twenty soon, or is it nineteen?"
The admission causes Miniyal to start in surprise. She looks up and over more carefully between bites of her cookie. A timid smile is offered but it is fleeting and the sort only the observant would even notice. "I'll be nineteen in, well, just a few days, actually." (We'll just say the game will start right about her birthday. Happy birthday to her!) The question draws a thoughtful frown over her features. For whatever reason the question seems to startle or concern or perhaps just puzzle her. "Is that too old?" she asks with a touch of concern. After all, her mother dearly wants her to get this position and she doesn't want to disappoint.
Lucky for Diya, she's the incredibly observant type. Gossip even insinuates that her imitations of people's speech and mannerisms is legendary. Spotting the smile, her own emerges past the solemnity, a trifle shy, accepting even of any such flaws that may lie in dealing with people. Then, without missing a beat, Diya starts in on expectations, ignoring for now the question of age. "What I expect of in an assistant isn't someone who will wake me in the morning. I'm capable of that myself. Nor do I require you to take notes of what I do. I am also capable of that. You will be following me daily within a set period of time, after which a variety of assignments will be passed onto you, either research for a case I wish to present to the Weyrwoman of why we need more slotted spoons," and in this the aging woman is particularly sarcastic, "Or how the Caucus negatively effects Weyr morale." She pauses. "For instance, I mean. I expect you to be prompt arriving on Nenuith's ledge in the morning, and require a certain degree of independent thought and movement of you. Or would, if I selected you," she corrects finally. "Do you understand, Miniyal?"
Miniyal consumes her second cookie and doesn't seem to be thinking as she reaches for a third. Still, once she's begun the action she can't take it back and so she has a third cookie after all. A small bite and she takes a drink to wash it down. "I would expect you to be capable of handling such things, yes," said in the tone more suited to a much older woman. A touch of sarcasm even and perhaps a trace of something else more secretive, given away almost by the drop of her gaze. "I think there is nothing I cannot do if it is required of me," she says firmly. Believing this at least and it runs through her words sharply. "I, well, you should understand, if you assign me a task, were I to be given this position, I will complete it. If it means, well, the results might not be favorable or what you wish, but I will not alter what I do for anyone." Although she doesn't appear to be accusing. Simply stating this as a fact. Odds are good in the past someone has attempted to get her to alter records. She's just not the sort.
Intent on watching Miniyal take the cookie, Diya only takes belated notice of the drop of the girl's eyes, seeming to be genuinely baffled for an instant. "There's little you can't do when you believe you can." The hokeyness of her words is heartfelt, the twinge of sly amusement in her eyes indicative she realizes this. "My prior assistant is now one of the Headwoman's hoard, and I was quite reluctant to let her go, but she's trained enough to one day, possibly, become a good Headwoman herself to a- Weyrwoman." The hesitant spacing of the words is minute, extreme perceptiveness finding that and the shadow that drops fleetingly over the weyrwoman's eyes. "As with any such position, discretion is required. Past assistants have been remarkable at keeping gossip-worthy notes to themselves. Thoughts?"
The words spoken get no reply, likely such thoughts have been thrown at Miniyal throughout her life. Thy shy ones are always told they just need to believe in themselves and so on. In Miniyal's case she tended to nod politely and then slip off where she wouldn't have to listen to the words that did little to help her. "It is, one imagines," she says after a drink from her glass, "Something of a stepping stone, this position. I, well, I desire no advancement. To be honest, weyrwoman I would be quite happy to remain in the records room forever, but sometimes I think it will not be wise. I, well, you know, there are things that could be better. Ways to fix things. I don't know." A somewhat fanatical glint to her eyes as she speaks of this, but realising it she shuts herself down. "I do not believe gossip helps. I find, well, I assume you know enough about me to know I'm certainly the last person who would ever speak out of turn."
Well-aware that assisting a weyrwoman is a stepping stone, Diya has nothing to say, noting with a faint nod of her head the truth in such a statement. "If it would please you, I do not mind acquiring an assistant for as long as you would enjoy the position. It may require travel at times to areas overnight, and a moment's notice given prior to these trips. I trust you." The last seems to conclude the interview, as the warmer, more personable woman emerges once more. "Your mother's words, and the simple fact that what you say is true, you are the last person who would say something unnecessarily, and in that, I see myself. I expect you here on the morrow. Unless," she pauses, "You have anything else to say, requests, desires, lack thereof?"
"I don't suppose," Miniyal asks as she rises to leave, "There might be space for my own room?" Something not expected, but one never knows unless they ask, yes? She does take another cookie before leaving. Actually, she doesn't even wait for an answer, mumbling, "We can discuss it tomorrow. I'm sorry. I should go." Gasp. Asking for something for herself. For shame. She'll let it go. Instead she inclines her head courteously and then, there being no other word for it, flees from the room.